


The Little Sister I Never Wanted

by EstrellaQueAdmiro



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Charlie Bradbury & Sam Winchester Friendship, Demon Dean Winchester, Drunk Sam Winchester, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Post Season 9
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-10 00:33:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2004024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EstrellaQueAdmiro/pseuds/EstrellaQueAdmiro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Season 9 fic: Sam buries Dean just outside the bunker and is almost drinking himself to death, until Charlie unexpectedly returns from Oz wounded and afraid. Both of them hurt, the pair help each other get through their pain and grow closer as a result. Little do they know that Dean's escaped his grave...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A single drop of whiskey fell from the bottle into Sam’s empty glass. How had he drunk it all already? He was sure the bottle was only half empty last time he checked. Time had blurred since he’d laid Dean’s body in his room. From then, he’d sunk into a drunken depression, and he had no idea how long he’d been sitting there. There lone Winchester pushed himself up and staggered out the room, accidentally dropping the bottle on his way. Glass dispersed around the now empty room, but Sam ignored it.  
He didn’t want to see Dean. Not yet. Images of his brother’s face as the blade sank into his chest, him clutching at Sam with a weak grip as the youngest Winchester desperately promised he was going to be okay, him choking out those last words before collapsing, dead, onto his little brother. The sounds of Sam’s own sobs even haunted him. He wasn’t ready to face Dean again just yet.  
Sam woke up several hours later surrounded by books. Piles of them towering around him and stacked on the floor. He didn’t remember a thing. He lifted his head from the open book he appeared to have used as a pillow. Necromancy spells. He’d been finding ways to bring back Dean. In frustration, it seemed, as Sam caught sight of a few books splayed out on the floor by a wall and another with torn pages. Necromancy spells were a no-go zone. He’d seen their side effects way too many times to even think about doing the same to Dean. He’d rather not resurrect a bloodthirsty, murderous brother. He wanted Dean to be, well, Dean.  
After poring over the books for at least another hour, despite his killer hangover impairing his focus, it appeared the only method that would work best was to make a deal. Was his soul even worth anything anymore? Dean was lucky to get a year all those years ago. Would Sam even get an hour before his soul was collected? And did he really want to put Dean through it? Bringing Dean back would be pointless if he would die shortly after – wasn’t the point of bringing him back for them to be together again? Perhaps it was time for Sam to accept that Dean was gone and should stay that way. He’d fought enough and maybe now he could find some peace. Maybe Sam should think about what Dean would want, not what he wanted. He’d only recently grilled Dean for not doing just that.  
But Sam didn’t want to go back on his word. Minutes before Dean’s death he’d confessed that he’d lied, of course he would do anything in his power to save his brother. He was just cruelly lashing out at Dean by saying he wouldn’t. After the hurt from Dean tricking him into being possessed, Sam just wanted to hurt his brother in retaliation. He hadn’t expected to be facing the situation of losing Dean, or at least not so soon.  
Several unopened bottles of whiskey were found in a kitchen cupboard, and almost instantly Sam had downed a glassful, grimacing at the bitter taste. It took the edge off the ache in his chest, the only way to slightly ease it. Rather that than being sober.  
The hunter wrinkled his nose. He was sure he could smell some kind of pungent odor. Was that Dean already? Or was he completely imagining the whole thing? Sam couldn’t figure it out. He went to investigate, whiskey bottle in hand. Sam pushed the door open slowly, cautiously, as if his brother was sleeping and didn’t want to wake him. Or in case he was flooded with the stench of decomposition.  
Dean lay there just like Sam had left him. Of course there was no stench. Not yet. Damn alcohol. He knew he’d had way too much but didn’t care too much. If it killed him he’d see Dean again. Hopefully. The mere sight of his brother caused Sam to tremble, and a sob escaped his drunken lips. He collapsed into a chair by the bed, staring at Dean’s peaceful expression and silently longing for him to spring to life and open his eyes. Yet he just lay there. Lifeless.  
“I’m sorry,” Sam finally choked out, “I’m so sorry, Dean.”  
He paused as if waiting for a response. Dean didn’t even flinch.  
“I should have been faster. Got you to a hospital,” his voice shook, words slurring, “I...I let you down...let you down.”  
There came another sob. The youngest Winchester couldn’t stop talking to the corpse on the bed, his filter temporarily destroyed by his excessive alcohol consumption.  
“I looked up to you all my life. Now what? Now what, Dean? Lost...I’m lost!”  
“I never deserved a big brother like you...never. I’m a fuck up. I hurt you.”  
“I didn’t want you to die, Dean. I lied to hurt you. I wanted to save you. But I couldn’t even do that right.”  
“Nothing can bring you back, Dean. No one...no one will want my soul.”  
“I miss you.”  
The one-sided conversation lasted over an hour until Sam broke down into more sobs, his head buried in that damn memory foam mattress Dean never shut up about. His hand clung to his brother’s tightly, trying his hardest to ignore the coldness in Dean’s skin. Holding his dead hand gave Sam such little comfort.  
The childish side of Sam’s mind, amplified by his current condition, wanted to climb onto the bed and clutch at Dean, as he had done as a kid after having nightmares. The rest of his mind fought against it, and so Sam stayed as he was. The sobs had since faded, and he stared in the opposite direction to Dean’s body.  
Sam drifted in and out of consciousness and finally work properly with a splitting headache that intensified as he lifted his head. He wretched and staggered to the bathroom, throwing up violently in the toilet and groaning slowly. He pushed himself up onto his feet, scratching at the dried tears on his face and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. It took him a while to bring himself to go back to Dean. To lift him off the bed.  
For a moment he just stood there, cradling his brother and not quite believing the situation. It just dragged him back to all those years ago he’d carried Dean to his grave before. At least this time he wasn’t so torn up. At least this time he hadn’t screamed in unimaginable agony. He was at least grateful Metatron hadn’t gored him to death, even if Sam wished to do exactly that to Dean’s murderer himself.  
The youngest Winchester brother sat on the bed and hugged Dean’s body close to his chest. His head was rested on Sam’s arm. Fresh tears sprung in the hunter’s eyes, and eventually he got up again. He was halfway to the exit before realising I need to dig the damn grave before putting Dean in it. Never let Sam Winchester think when intoxicated. He left Dean sitting on a chair in the library and went in search of a shovel. It was an easy find; it was the materials needed to construct a casket that was the challenge. He’d rather not bury his brother straight in the soul.  
After hours of searching and the highest safe amount of pain killers, Sam found no other option but to hack apart furniture from several uninhabited rooms to use the wood. It wasn’t exactly a good casket but it would fulfil its purpose. No one was going to be looking at and judging his handiwork once it was six feet under. Sam carried the damn thing outside and searched for a place to bury Dean.  
Sam started digging by a large tree. Nothing special about it, he just chose the first spot he could with something at least slightly memorable nearby. He didn’t want Dean too close or too far from the bunker, and the location he chose seemed to fit both criteria. The tree was just into the nearby forest that appeared abandoned, and so hopefully wouldn’t cause a stir if it was found a burial had occurred. The place was overgrown and not exactly picturesque, but it would do. Can’t exactly let Dean rot in the bunker, and Sam wasn’t going to put a corpse back into the Impala and drive to a more appealing burial ground.  
Hours dragged by as Sam dug deep enough and got the casket inside. At least last time he had Bobby’s help. The hunter was exhausted when the time came to actually bury Dean, but he carried on nonetheless. He carried his big brother outside to the fresh dug grave. He knelt and lowered Dean in as best he could, then placed the ill-fitting lid over the top. Sam was too tired to even cry. His face was expressionless, staring at the casket for a few moments before beginning to pile the dirt back on.  
Arms aching, legs aching, chest aching, Sam staggered stiffly back into the bunker. More than anything he wanted a bath to sooth the pain in his overworked muscles, but instead he collapsed into the nearest chair and soon fell asleep.  
\--  
It replayed in his mind. His quick footsteps as he sprinted to find his brother. Metatron’s smirk upon seeing him, before plunging the angel blade deep into Dean’s chest. The eye contact, the childlike fear on Dean’s face as the blade was pulled out. His own yell, his arms supporting Dean as he could barely keep himself upright. His brother falling into him, lifeless. But that wasn’t all. The story continued. Dean appeared before him, almost transparent and flickering. His eyes were narrowed and his face was twisted in a sinister smirk. The room had a chill to it suddenly. Dean’s body was still in his arms. Dean was haunting him already? He didn’t have time to ponder it much longer, as the dead hunter raised his hand, and Sam’s neck snapped with a definite crack.  
Sam awoke with a start, gasping quietly. Carefully he felt his neck, despite clearly being alive, and was relieved to not find any obvious breakage. The last thing he wanted was his brother returning in that way. Yet he refused to give him the proper hunter’s funeral. Just in case he found a way.  
Where will Dean have gone? Was a question debating itself in the younger Winchester’s mind as he gulped down a glass of water. He hoped more than anything that his big brother wasn’t downstairs being tortured, or worse, doing the torturing. Sam hated to remember Dean’s self-hatred, his devastation at his actions while in Hell. The sound of Dean’s pained sobs, the tears rolling down his cheeks. Sam had also failed to keep himself composed, regressing to the time he would burst into tears in the rare moments that Dean cried as a kid. Seeing his big brother, the boy who’d boasted about his bravery and promised to always protect Sam, break down into tears was such an unusual and unsettling event for the younger boy. Dean Winchester crying meant things were very, very wrong.  
Sam desperately hoped Dean had been deemed worthy of heaven. God knows he deserved truly be at rest. He wondered what Dean’s personal heaven would entail. Dean’s favourite place was the inside of his beloved car. Perhaps his paradise involved endless road trips in the Impala with great food, including unlimited pie. But part of the enjoyment of these trips was surely due to his company. What would those road trips be without Sam riding shotgun? Was there going to be some conjured up version of Sam up there with Dean until the real one finally kicked the bucket? They already knew they could share a heaven together.  
Maybe Dean could find Ash, maybe they could finally try and track down his parents once and for all. Maybe Ash already found them. It saddened Sam to think of a potential ‘family reunion’ up there without him while he was stuck alone in the land of the living. Not that he particularly wanted to be a part of it for much longer. He thought of everyone he knew that would (or should) be up there in heaven. Ellen, Jo, Bobby, Ash, Pamela, Rufus. Jess. At that moment, despite it almost being a decade since losing what was his longest and most serious relationship, Sam longed for Jessica. Her arms around him in those warm hugs she always gave, her blonde curls brushing against his face as she nuzzled him affectionately. Her soft voice reassuring him that everything was going to be alright, he was going to get that full ride at Stanford. He avoided thinking about how different his life could have been if only he hadn’t left her to go with Dean. If only he’d protected her from her grisly end. All Sam could hope was that Jess was happy and at rest.  
Cas! The hunter suddenly thought. What if Cas had found Dean in heaven, helped him to adjust? Maybe he was on his way now to put Sam’s mind at rest. But what if Cas was dead, and Gadreel too. He hadn’t heard from either of them since they got back into heaven. How did Sam know the angels hadn’t turned on them, or Metatron hadn’t killed them himself?  
Not knowing Cas and Gadreel’s whereabouts only made Sam feel more alone. Who did he have? Boby, the one he’d naturally turn to, was two years gone now. Almost four years since Jo and Ellen and seven for Ash. The only people alive that Sam could think of were Sheriff Mills, and of all people, Becky Rosen. Jody was no doubt an option. She cared about the Winchester brothers and now her and Sam could empathise with one another over their losses. Becky wasn’t even an option. Sam was not, nor did he think he’d ever be, prepared to see her again. Would she even care about Dean’s death, besides the drastic plot twist?  
The sound of two doors swinging open at high speed jolted Sam from his thoughts. What was that? It sounded almost like a gale force wind. Inside? What the hell was going on? Sam silently hoped he wasn’t cracking up already. He cautiously made his way downstairs, gun loaded and ready. As he got closer, he heard voices, both with a tone of desperation and urgence.  
“No, please! You can’t go back there without me!”  
“I have to...I have to know you’re safe. You’re hurt.”  
Sam frowned. He recognised those voices. Within a second, there was a scream, followed by a second in response. Silence. He quickened his pace, but then someone called out.  
“Sam? Dean?”  
The hunter broke into a run upon identifying the owner of the voice. He found her there, in the worst state he’d ever seen her in. Her clothes were soaked in blood and were clearly not from around her. They’d make anyone turn their head and stare with their quirk. The bleeding was mostly coming from her leg, which appeared to be broken. Her red hair was tangled and a little matted with flecks of blood. Her blue-green eyes focused on Sam , and the fear in them appeared to subside a little.  
“Charlie?”


	2. 2

“Sam!” Charlie tried to scramble to her feet but whimpered at the visible pain from her leg. Despite being a little dizzy from his hangover, Sam instantly scooped her up into his arms and carried her upstairs.  
“Are you alright?” he asked urgently, but didn’t look at her until he gently laid her down on the couch.   
“Well clearly not, I mean look at me…” her voice cracked and she let out a sob, “No.”  
The hunter knelt beside where she lay and pulled her into a gentle hug, struggling to keep himself composed too. He was still reeling from Dean, of course, and seeing his friend, who was usually so happy, in such a way unsettled him further. The remainder of the alcohol in his system probably didn’t help. Sam stayed where he was and allowed Charlie to get it all out her system as he held her close.   
“What happened, Charlie?” he asked softly as she began to calm down.  
“I think she’s dead, Sam,” Charlie whispered, “Dorothy.”  
Sam sighed, “I’m sorry.”  
“We were ambushed in the city. Monkeys…loads of them. More than we’ve ever seen before. They’ve all gone outta control since we got rid of the witch. No way could we fight them all off. They got me, tried to carry me off to whatever pit they came from, that’s how my leg got screwed up. Dorothy opened up the door back here, shoved me through, she didn’t give me a choice! She just wanted me to be safe…but then they all leapt on her…at least seven. Biting and clawing. Then the doors closed.”  
Sam said nothing, but nodded sadly, rubbing his forehead in an attempt to sooth his headache.  
“And you? You don’t look so good,” the young woman frowned a little, “Are you drunk?”  
“I was,” Sam muttered, looking at her briefly and letting out a sigh. He didn’t need to guess what question was coming.  
“Where’s Dean?” Charlie’s voice was cautious, “He’s…he’s on a hunt, right?”  
Sam’s eyes sparkled with fresh tears, and he couldn’t meet her eyes. Charlie watched silently; she’d never seen him look so upset, so vulnerable. Broken. The hunter bowed his head, hand over his forehead, trying his damndest to keep in the sobs that were fighting to get out.   
“No…not him too,” Charlie shook her head, “Sam…I’m so sorry.”  
“He was murdered,” the youngest Winchester brother snapped, fist clenched. He’d do anything to avoid tears. Charlie pushed herself up into sitting, and Sam felt her hand slip into his.   
“He’s in a better place now, I guess. Right?”   
“I guess,” Sam mumbled, “He’s fought enough.”  
Both got distracted as Sam’s cell phone vibrated on the nearby table. He stood, letting go of her hand and going to answer without another word.  
“Sam,” the gravelly voice relieved Sam slightly, and he almost smiled at the knowledge that at least his friend was okay  
“Hey, Cas,” he couldn’t sound more monotonous if he tried.  
“I know about Dean,” the angel sighed softly, “I’m sorry, Sam.”  
“Yeah.”  
“We have him. Metatron. He can’t do any more harm,” Castiel said quietly, “Are you alright?”  
Sam took a shaking breath and wiped his eyes, “He’s buried.”  
“That didn’t answer my question, Sam,” Castiel raised his voice slightly.  
“What do you think?” Sam snapped.  
The line was silent for what seemed like an eternity.   
“Sorry,” the hunter finally breathed.   
“S-Sam…” Charlie whimpered softly behind him, but Sam didn’t respond. He was too distracted with the angel.  
“Gadreel is dead too, Sam,” Castiel sighed softly, “Sacrificed himself. We’d been caught and imprisoned. He took his own life so I could reveal Metatron for who he is.”  
Sam shook his head in frustration. He’d hated that angel so intensely, so strongly for taking control of his body, killing Kevin for his benefit and not even removing the memory from hunter’s mind. Waking up to remember light flooding through the young prophet’s eyes, his screams of pain, his lifeless body collapsing at his feet had haunted him for weeks, even after constant reassurance and the knowledge it wasn’t him. Yet he’d turned it around. Turned against Metatron who he’d originally worked so hard to impress and worked to fight against him. And that had cost him his life. Sam’s blood boiled at the pure injustice of the whole situation.  
“Can you get here, Cas? Please?” The hunter’s voice cracked, “My friend, Charlie, she’s here and she’s hurt…really hurt, and…”  
“I am too weak to help her, Sam,” Castiel interrupted, “My stolen grace…its fading.”  
Sam’s chest clenched. Not him too, “What are you gonna do?”  
“I don’t know. Not yet,” the angel shook his head, “Get your friend to a hospital. You know how to contact me.”  
Sam looked over at Charlie, “I will, thanks-Charlie?!”  
Her right arm hung limply and her skin was almost grey, eyes closed and her clothes soaked in blood. In an instant he scooped her up into his arms and had her in the Impala. He was hungover and was in no state to drive, but in that moment he didn’t care. He’d lost Dean, he could well be losing Cas, he wasn’t losing Charlie too. The ambulance would take too long.  
The hunter drove over the limit, and probably very dangerously, to the hospital and hoped desperately he wasn’t about to get pulled over.  
“I need help!” Sam yelled as he carried Charlie into the hospital, trying to find a pulse as he went. Before he could, she was taken from him and placed on a hospital bed, but he followed as she was wheeled away.  
“She…she fell,” the hunter stuttered, “Please…you have to-”  
“We’re doing all we can, sir. Please, go wait and calm down,” a nurse gave him a gentle push in the direction of the nearest waiting room, and Sam gave up and did as he was told, slumping down into the nearest chair and ignoring the stares from the two other people already in there; a middle aged woman reading some gossip magazine, and presumably her husband. They stared warily at the large amount of blood stained on Sam’s shirt. He turned away slightly and sat in silence. Eventually they were told their daughter was coming to and so left the room. The hunter allowed his thoughts to smother him and stared at the floor until he eventually drifted to sleep.  
\--  
“Sir?”   
Sam was shaken awake, and he was dangerously close to instinctively lashing out at the nearest person. The small, female nurse flinched with visible fear.   
“Sorry,” he muttered guiltily, not meeting her scared eyes.   
“Y-your friend is stable. She’s resting, and should wake soon. You can go see her if you like,” the nurse’s voice was shaky and nervous, and she stepped back and gestured for Sam to follow. He pushed himself up with a quiet groan in response to his headache and was led to a room just a few doors down.   
Charlie’s unique clothing was replaced with an awfully dull, awfully human hospital gown, her leg in a large plaster cast and an iv in her arm. Sam couldn’t help but sigh at how small she looked, and without a word to the nurse he sat in the chair beside the hospital bed. The nurse scurried out the room and left the two hunters alone.  
It took a few minutes before Charlie stirred, much to Sam’s relief. He’d watched her intently – anyone passing by would have considered it creepy – just needing her awake. He just needed someone who understood. The redhead shifted around a little and let out a small whimper before her blue-green eyes flickered open.  
“Am I dead?” Charlie whispered, “Mom?”  
Sam sighed quietly and took a while to figure out an answer, but before he could she turned her head. Her slightly hopeful expression disappeared.  
“Oh…Sam,” she said with clear disappointment before realising her mistake, “Sorry. I don’t mean it like that. I just…”  
“I know,” he nodded.   
“You’re like a cuddly protective big brother,” Charlie began to smile again, “Well…not exactly cuddly. You’re kinda bony, actually…wait. That was mean. What I’m trying to say is…”  
“I think I get the picture,” Sam chuckled, “How’re you feeling?”  
“My leg hurts a bit. This thing,” she held up the iv line, “feels weird. This gown, whatever it is, sucks. Overall quite gross.”  
“Want me to get you anything?”  
“A coke would be good. Please say I’m allowed a coke,” Charlie rested her head back on the pillows and sighed.  
“I’ll see what I can do,” Sam got up and went to leave, but a hand grabbed his arm and stopped him in his tracks.  
“Don’t leave me on my own. Please, Sam.”  
“But you asked me to-”  
“Get a nurse or something! Please don’t leave me,” Charlie’s eyes were wide and Sam was sure he could see tears forming in them.  
“Hey,” Sam’s voice was soft as he sat beside her once more and held her hand as she reached for his, “I’ll stay. It’s alright.”  
Charlie slowly reached both arms, and the youngest Winchester gently pulled her into a hug while doing his best not to hurt her. She nestled into his warmth and rested her head on his chest, feeling a little soothed by the hunter’s soft heartbeat. Just being near another human was enough for her right now.  
“It was scarier than I thought. Scarier than Dorothy made it out to be. So much killing and death. All those monkeys,” she shook her head, “All the worst stuff happened when we got separated. She’d left me watching our camp when the monkeys attacked this time.”  
Sam wasn’t sure what to say. Talk of Oz was all too strange to him. He’d battled and destroyed so many creatures many would consider fiction, but Oz was the limit. Oz really was fiction, or so he had thought until the discovery of both Dorothy and the Wicked Witch in the bunker. It was so bizarre that even the intelligent hunter couldn’t get his head around it.   
“How did he die, Sam?” her voice was soft but the words stabbed Sam right in the chest, one by one. He took a while to compose himself enough to answer.  
“An angel killed him before he could,” the hunter’s voice was lowered and shaky, “He…he had this thing. A mark. The Mark of Cain.”  
“The…what?” Charlie’s confusion was almost comical.  
“The Mark of Cain. A mark Dean got from Cain himself…Cain and Abel?” Sam looked at her in hope she’d heard of them.  
“The Cain? Dean met…the Cain?” Charlie looked baffled, “Woah.”  
“Yeah…it was the only thing that could kill Abaddon.”  
“Aba-who? Been in Oz, Sam. I’m not up to date with the gossip,” she hadn’t meant to sound so humorous as she leaned on Sam lightly.  
“She’s a knight of Hell…basically a powerful demon. She couldn’t be killed the normal way. So Dean got that damn Mark. It changed him. He was so angry, so violent. She didn’t just kill Abaddon, he slaughtered her. But it wasn’t him. He realised what the hell he was doing and the way he looked at me…he looked like a scared little kid,” Sam blinked tears from his eyes, “The First Blade, what he had to use to kill Abaddon, was the only way to kill Metatron-”  
“-The Transformer?” Charlie pipe up, suddenly more interested.  
“The angel. But he’d closed heaven and made himself…well…God. He was too powerful to be killed with an angel blade. Dean was going to kill him but…Metatron beat him to it.”  
A few moments of silence passed, and Sam allowed tears to trickle down his cheeks slowly. Charlie reached and wiped them away.  
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. Not so soon, anyway.”  
“He didn’t want me to save him. The Mark was scaring him, he knew he was turning into something he didn’t want to become. He wanted to die to escape it all,” Sam’s voice cracked and fresh tears escaped, “He finally got the peace he deserved.”  
Sam buried his face in her shoulder, and Charlie gently rubbed his back.  
“You’re gonna be okay, Sam. I get it. You and Dean were close. Real close. Inseparable, I could say. It might not seem it…but it does get better. Believe me, I know. It takes time. But it gets better,” she whispered.  
“I lied to him, Charlie,” Sam grimaced at his own actions, “I told him I’d never try to save him if he was dying. I just wanted to hurt him, get back at him for what he did. But I forgive him. And now what I say came to bite me on the ass.”  
“And now he’s finally at peace,” Charlie studied his face, “Sam, you gotta see it that way. Not that you couldn’t save him, not that you’re suffering because he’s gone. Yeah, he was murdered, but he’s at rest, he’s free from all the crap he had to go through. He can be happy up there.”  
Sam wanted so badly to ask when it was his time to be at peace. When could he be free from everything? When could he go upstairs to his little bit of his own paradise? For all he knew, Dean was in heaven having some big family reunion. Bobby, Jo, Ellen, Ash, Kevin, maybe even Mary and John. And the only surviving Winchester was stuck in the land of the living on his own.  
But he couldn’t forget Charlie. She was family too, like a little sister. “The little sister I never wanted” as Dean had called her after that first meeting. Sam didn’t want to leave her on her own, but he’d almost lost her just an hour or two ago. Her and Cas were the only reason Sam was prepared to carry on breathing, but by the sounds of it Cas wasn’t going to last much longer. He didn’t even seem phased by it. The hunter needed to somehow prevent the looming death of the angel, but at that precise moment in time had to focus on the young woman, scared out of her wits in the hospital.  
A nurse, different to the one Sam had almost punched in the face by accident, came in to check on Charlie, but before she could she had been asked to get a coke. Sam smirked in amusement as the nurse looked rather taken aback, but left the room all the same, and Charlie shrugged without another thought.  
“Someone had to get it,” she shrugged, laying back against the pillows. She stared into space for a good few minutes, hand still in Sam’s. He was just glad the ache in his chest was beginning to subside. He didn’t feel so alone anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment <3


	3. Chapter 3

Sam had barely left the hospital since Charlie had arrived but the staff were finding him a nuisance. He rarely left her side, a mutual decision by both parties, and his drinking habits had barely subsided. Thanks to Charlie’s separation anxiety, the nurses had seemed to have become servants, bringing drinks and food that Sam was perfectly capable of getting himself.  
Charlie hadn’t been coping too well with the nightmares that plagued her every night, meaning that Sam had no choice but to sleep in a chair or on a small camp bed set up by her bed. Not that he could sleep much anyway. He lay or sat wide awake, watching Charlie as if waiting for her to wake again, or unable to shut down his mind to rest thanks to memories of his dead brother haunting him. To pass the time and hide the pain, the lone Winchester drank excessively, managing to smuggle whisky or beer in on the rare occasions he left the hospital. He’d argued with nurses and doctors and got overly emotional, and Charlie was honestly becoming more and more scared of him, yet she didn’t want him to leave her on her own.  
On the fifth day of being in hospital, Charlie was told she would be discharged the next day, all going well. They’d monitored her leg and were keeping her under observation just in case any of her wounds got infected, but they were healing up nicely. Within a day of arriving, the redhead had asked for a TV in her room, and she and Sam had watched film after film together. On that fifth day, it was half way through their Harry Potter marathon and they were enjoying The Order of the Phoenix, complete with popcorn and plenty of candy. Charlie had insisted Sam sat on the bed so she could sit on his knee, and of course he had done as asked. She couldn’t deny the feeling of safety when in the large man’s arms, and found herself curled up and leaning on him, head resting on his chest. Sam smiled to himself and didn’t dispute it, leaning back against the metal bedframe and watching the movie.  
Sam started drinking again half way through The Deathly Hallows Part 1, the deaths in the fictional world getting to him and reminding him way too much of losing Dean, his father, Jessica, everyone he loved. He placed Charlie on her bed and cracked open a beer he’d stashed under it, before resuming his position.  
“Sam,” she said quietly, putting a hand on the can, “Not today.”  
The hunter brushed her hand away and took a few more gulps, saying nothing at all. He never talked when he drank. Not until he was blind drunk, anyway. Charlie felt so helpless. She knew Sam was hurting, she knew that every time he opened a new beer he’d just thought about Dean or something else that bothered him. She hated seeing him do it to himself, but nothing she could do would stop him.  
“Was it the movie?” she said quietly, “We can turn it off, if you want.”  
Sam didn’t answer, he just carried on drinking.  
“Sam,” Charlie pressed, putting a hand on his shoulder, “Please.”  
Roughly the hunter brushed her hand away, and she leaned away from him nervously. He moved her to the bed once again, to her relief this time, and he downed another beer in record time, without even a flinch.  
“Sam,” she tried again, leaning against the bedframe, “It’s okay.”  
“Shut up,” he said sharply, not meeting her gaze.  
“No!” Charlie shocked herself at her courage, “You don’t need to get intoxicated because you thought about your brother, Sam! It’s like you want to forget him, it’s an insult to his memory!”  
Something inside the youngest Winchester snapped. He wasn’t even drunk yet, but he stood and knocked over the bedside table in rage.  
“You don’t understand anything! You don’t know how it feels!” his voice was almost a yell, until it cracked, and he slowly sank back into his seat, “I could have saved him. If only I’d been faster.”  
As he met Charlie’s eyes, his chest clenched to find them moist and overflowing with tears.  
“I do understand,” her voice was tiny and quivering, almost identical to how she looked, “If I hadn’t made that call…”  
“Charlie, I…” Sam tried to find the words, strong enough and apologetic enough to show how much he regretted what he said. The alcohol was taking effect and screwing up his thoughts, but he knew how wrong he was. She knew better than he did, she understood way more than he did. She’d lived with that pain and guilt for so long from losing both parents. She knew how it felt better than anyone.  
“Just go,” she averted her eyes from him and didn’t look back.  
“Charlie…”  
“Go!” the redhead let out a soft sob and wiped furiously at her eyes. Before Sam could get up and leave, the hospital’s security entered the room. No doubt they’d been alerted due to the commotion he caused.  
“Get him out of here,” Charlie muttered, and Sam walked out without them even having to try.  
Sam drove back to the bunker regardless of his state. He wouldn’t have even cared if he’d got arrested, he wouldn’t have cared if he drove into a tree. At least then maybe he could see Dean again.  
Meanwhile, after she repeatedly tried to convince both the nurses and security that she was fine, Charlie resumed the remainder of the Harry Potter marathon hugging her pillow. Not that the deaths of Tonks and Lupin particularly helped her mood.  
Instead of going straight inside to drink some more without anyone there to hold him back, the hunter went around into the forest where his brother had been laid to rest. He just needed to talk to him, whether he could hear him or not. He needed to at least feel like Dean was listening. Sam weaved through the trees as fast as he could without drunkenly walking into one, but panic shot through every single nerve in his body at what he found. Instead of the buried over grave, the leaves and other vegetation and forest materials covering the fresh dug earth, was a grave-shaped hole in the ground. As the Winchester brother slowly, shakily took a closer look, the makeshift casket had been hacked apart, possibly from the inside but Sam’s drunk mind couldn’t tell, and there was no body inside.  
“Dean,” Sam whispered, a small smile on his face in pure hope. Had he somehow come back? Had Cas revived him, another angel? Did Metatron reverse his actions somehow? All these ideas spun around the hunter’s head as he began to run back to the bunker. He could just picture it now, his brother, all covered in dirt from digging his way out, at the table drinking a beer or tucking into that pie Sam had kept in the fridge and hadn’t dared to throw out just yet. Or listening to his classic rock tunes in his room, using that shower he wouldn’t stop raving about. Just like he’d never been gone. The youngest Winchester was ready to throw himself at his brother, not even thinking about the rash prediction he was making.  
“Dean?” he called as he got inside the building, but was greeted with silence. Maybe he hadn’t heard. Probably plugged into his headphones or something. Sam stumbled, a little drunk, into the kitchen, the study, the library. The bathroom door was unlocked and open and the shower was off. But it was too quiet as he reached his brother’s bedroom. He’d at least hear the muffled sound of the music, Dean softly humming the tune. But there was nothing. Sam pushed open the door to find the room empty and left exactly as it was.  
“Dean…” Sam’s final grasp of hope, the hope he’d clung to and allowed to become wildly carried away within just minutes, collapsed on top of him. Dean was gone, literally gone. The thought of never seeing his brother again was one thing, but not knowing where he’d gone was dominating Sam’s mind. Had he really been resurrected? If he had, where was he? Had he some reason to abandon his little brother? Or had someone taken him, alive or dead? The confusion and pain from the sudden revelations were making Sam dizzy, and he fell back into the wall, where he leaned back heavily as he tried desperately to regain his bearings and set his mind straight. Before long, the intoxicated hunter stumbled into the nearest chair he could, beer bottle in hand.  
\--  
Charlie was discharged the following day and she couldn’t help but feel apprehensive about getting back to the bunker. She’d laid awake that night, feeling a little guilty for not being able to help Sam as much as she wanted to. That, and for the altercation from the previous day. His words had hurt, but she had hurt him too, whether she was trying to help or not.  
The broken leg was in a tight cast and the young woman had been given crutches to use until she could put weight properly on her leg again. It wasn’t exactly practical, no conventions for her any time soon, but what mattered more to her at that time was to help Sam and get over the events in Oz. Charlie was allowed to wait in her room to be picked up, and she nervously made the call to Sam.  
This is Sam. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.  
“S-Sam? It’s me…y’know, Charlie. Out of hospital now…yay, I guess,” her small smile faded, “I’m sorry for what I said. I was just trying to...never mind. Just…come pick me up?”  
This is Sam. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.  
“I am sorry, Sam. Really. Please, I just want to go home now,” Charlie couldn’t think of much else to describe the bunker, “You can ignore me as soon as we get there.”  
This is Sam. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.  
“Hey, Sam…Don’t know if you’re on your way yet…but I’m not in my room anymore. Someone else needed it so I got kicked out. I’m in the waiting room just down the hall, if you can’t find me.”  
This is Sam. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.  
Charlie rubbed her temples in frustration and tiredness. It had only been an hour or two since she made the first call but she was beginning to worry. What if something had happened? Or perhaps Sam was just pissed at her still and trying to spite her. Either way, didn’t want to wait any longer. Hospitals made her uneasy due to her late mother’s situation before her death. Just being there freaked her out a little, she couldn’t help but picture her mother in the next room being wheeled past. Those thoughts only worsened when Sam left the night before. No one to take away the nightmares.  
A cab ended up being her ride home, despite having no money. She repeatedly offered to get money from inside the bunker to pay the driver, but she had been extremely fortunate to have been picked up by an empathetic, kind man who declined her offers. He could see she was in need and not in the best of conditions. What she needed was rest, not running around for cash.  
“Sam?” her voice cut through the thick silence in the bunker as she got inside the unlocked door. Charlie hated the eeriness of descending the steps slowly and carefully into the quietness of the room. The stench of alcohol was thick, made apparent by the two smashed bottles of both whisky and beer just ahead of her. She managed to step over the mess without slipping in it, much to her relief, and ventured further into the building on the hunt for the lone Winchester.  
A sharp odour of vomit caused the Woman of Letters to wrinkle her nose. She shook her head with a sigh. Last night clearly hadn’t been one of sobriety for Sam Winchester. Empty bottles appeared to cover every surface in the kitchen as well as shards of several bottles lining the floor. Charlie cautiously dodged the glass and instead made her way to Sam’s bedroom. And that was where she found him.  
The hunter lay in a heap near his bed, face down and lying in his own vomit, some of it containing blood. A half empty bottle was in his hand, a lot of the contents spilled out and soaking into the carpet.  
“Sam!” Charlie threw herself down beside him, regardless of the pain in her leg, and frantically shook him. His skin was pale and a little cold to the touch, and he didn’t respond at all. His harsh, struggling breaths only panicked her more.  
“C’mon, Sam! Please…” her voice cracked, “You gotta wake up.”  
She waited a few seconds in hope, expecting him to stir and have nothing more than a pounding headache, so she could hug him as tight as she could and apologise for everything that had upset him. But Sam just laid there. With a small whimper Charlie took his cell phone from his jacket pocket – she’d lost her own in Oz – and called 911.  
While she waited for the ambulance to arrive, Charlie had draped Sam’s bedcovers over him to warm him up. She kept hold of his hand, just in case he could feel it.  
“I’m so sorry, Sam,” she whispered, “I didn’t want to upset you. I’m a jerk. But you can’t leave me…not like everyone else.”  
Slowly, Charlie hugged his hand to her chest as if it were a comfort blanket, watching his expressionless face nervously.  
Charlie was immediately shoved aside as the paramedics rushed to Sam’s aid, causing her to squeak in pain and scramble to her feet as fast as the cast would allow. The hunter was strapped onto a stretcher and taken into the ambulance while another paramedic helped Charlie follow as quickly as she could. The paramedic was trying to be as reassuring as she could be, given the circumstances, and helped Charlie sit inside the vehicle. Sam had an oxygen mask, and finally his breathing appeared to be even and at a normal rate compared to before. The ambulance was in motion the moment the doors closed, and for a moment it seemed relatively calm. Charlie couldn’t watch them do their work, she couldn’t look at Sam with the oxygen mask covering his face. She just wished it was a vivid, horrible dream.  
“He’s seizing!” Charlie’s head snapped up at the exclamation, eyes widening at the sight of Sam’s body jerking uncontrollably.  
“Sam?!” she gasped, standing up as if to help. The young woman was gently pushed back into her seat and reassured that they were doing all they could. Eventually, after what seemed like a lifetime, the hunter’s movements calmed until he was still once more, just as the ambulance parked at the hospital entrance.  
Charlie couldn’t keep up as Sam was whisked away the moment he was taken out of the vehicle. She got into the building but had to sit for a while, a combination of the walking and the sudden events truly getting to her. Ignoring everyone else around her, the young woman almost fell into the nearest chair and broke down completely. For all she knew, she could be about to lose one of the only remaining people who cared about her, and she couldn’t help but feel responsible. He wasn’t exactly the innocent party; Sam had said things that had hurt her just as much. But she was the one who had told him to go home. For all she knew, that rejection had driven the lone Winchester to drink himself almost to death.  
It took a little while for her to calm down, but once she had she forced herself to get up and find Sam. As she was directed to his whereabouts, she was not met with a positive sight. Doctors and nurses surrounded the hunter’s body, his shirt cut away from him to work the defibrillator.  
“No!” Charlie screamed, clutching at the doorframe as she began to get light-headed. A gentle looking nurse helped her steady herself and led her away from the room, with just enough time to hear the precious, soft beeping of Sam’s monitor. He wasn’t leaving her just yet, at least.  
“He’s gonna be okay…right?”  
The nurse sat the Woman of Letters down in an empty waiting room and brought her a glass of water to help her calm down before sitting beside her.  
“He consumed a dangerous amount of alcohol,” the nurse sighed softly, “He’s lucky to be alive.”  
That last statement didn’t reassure Charlie in any way. He may be alive, but for how much longer? He didn’t exactly seem to be responding very well. She stayed silent, wiping away tears from her eyes and taking a sip of water.  
“I don’t want to promise anything,” the nurse carried on, “But it was good you got to him when you did. If you’d found him any later I’m not sure we’d have got this far.”  
Again, not very reassuring. After a long silence with no response, Charlie was left alone. There was no one else she wanted to talk to anymore. She wanted to hear Sam’s voice again, but now she wasn’t sure if she would, or not for a while. Charlie curled up in her seat, as best she could with the cast, and finished her water before dozing off from the exhaustion of the day.  
A doctor gently shook Charlie awake, and she opened her blue-green eyes to find she was no longer the only occupant in the waiting room. A large family were sitting opposite her, watching her strangely. Hopefully she hadn’t talked in her sleep or anything.  
“Is Sam alright? Can I see him?” she asked instantly at the older male doctor. His expression was grave and sympathetic.  
“He’s in a critical condition,” he said solemnly as Charlie pushed herself onto her feet, “You can see him.”  
Charlie walked alongside the doctor slowly, her leg aching as she went.  
“We had to resuscitate him, but now he seems to be holding on. But I can’t promise how long he can. His breathing is weak, it seems likely his heart could stop again. Either that, or he could suffer a fatal heart attack. We’re keeping him under close observation, do all we can to prevent that,” Charlie looked away from him as he talked. She couldn’t bear the truth. She couldn’t accept that Sam could go at any time, according to him. But the doctor hadn’t finished, “What brought him to drink that much?”  
“He just lost his brother,” her voice shook sadly, “They were close. Real close, he took it bad. And then we had an argument…”  
The doctor nodded, deciding not to press for more. It saddened him to see people do such things to themselves with grief, especially a man as young as Sam. He could only hope he was strong enough to pull through at that time.  
Charlie didn’t move from Sam’s side from the moment she sat down.  
“Sam?” she whispered, reaching and taking his hand softly. His skin was considerably warmer than before, and with her thumb she gently stroked his fingers, “I’m here.”  
\--  
 _Sam parked up the Impala in the bunker garage after a beer run, for once not forgetting the pie. Enough to keep Dean going for a little while._  
 _“Hey, Sammy,” his big brother called half-heartedly as he pored through one of the vintage copies of Busty Asian Beauties in concentration. Dean’s attention, however, was snatched away from his pornography at the sight of a fresh slice of warm pie placed beside him, “Who are you, and what have you done with my jerk brother?”  
 _Sam smirked and shook his head, cracking open a beer and taking a few gulps, “Anything good?” he nodded toward the dusty magazine with a hint of a mischievous grin.  
 _“Stupid question,” Dean raised an eyebrow before wolfing down the slice in record time, “Thanks, Sammy.”  
 _The younger brother brushed his bangs out of his eyes and sat at the next table, returning to the lore book he’d been studying before going out, absentmindedly drinking his beer as he did so.  
 _“Hello, Sam,” a familiar voice made the hunter startle, and the room seemed to get a chill about it. Sam turned, however, to find Dean gone. The bunker was empty, except one. Sam leapt to his feet, demon knife out and held toward the horseman.  
 _“What are you doing here?” Sam demanded, “Where’s Dean?”  
 _“He was never really here,” Death tilted his head slightly, “We’re in your head, son.”  
 _Sam jolted a little at the statement, “You’re lying.”  
 _“I think you’ll find I’m not, boy. You’re dying, alcohol poisoning. Losing your brother didn’t go down too well, did it? And here we are.”  
 _And then Sam remembered. Dean dying in his arms, burying him, Charlie returning, almost losing her…finding Dean’s grave empty.  
 _“Where’s Dean?” he demanded, “Is he alive?”  
 _“I distinctly remember reaping him,” Death looked away for a moment, hesitant, “Said he couldn’t leave his darling brother behind. But then after some gentle persuasion he agreed it was his time. Finally a Winchester saw sense.”  
 _“And so what, it’s my time too?”  
 _“The fights over, Sam. Haven’t you done enough? Your time was eight years ago, when you were, literally, stabbed in the back. But your big brother decided he’d play god on that one. Do you know how many times you’ve been reaped, only to start breathing once more? When is it going to end? When are you going to accept you’re done and just go?”  
 _Sam stayed silent for a while, mulling it all over. He was right, how long could he keep on fighting? Especially without his brother by his side. His and Dean’s attachments to each other weren’t exactly healthy, but without it they felt incomplete. They needed each other; hence taking the liberty to resurrect each other regardless of consequences.  
 _He couldn’t deny it hurt to know that Dean finally chose peace over his brother. It didn’t seem right that it only took Death’s attempts at persuasion to get him over to the other side, but Sam couldn’t blame him at the same time. Neither of them deserved anything more than eternal rest.  
 _“So? What’s it going to be?”_________________

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This idea came to me randomly as I was trying to think of a good fic idea for Charlie to be involved in, as she's one of my favourite characters. I'm not too confident with this first chapter but hopefully they will improve!
> 
> Just also wanted to note that my description is awful, and by "the pair grow closer" I mean as a sibling/friendship relationship and not romantic!
> 
> Please leave a review and let me know what you think, I love feedback! And follow/favourite if you enjoyed it! Thank you:)


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